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DB Fletcher’s Capstan Tables are amazing, expanding round dinner-tables. When you spin them by the outer edges, they separate into sseveral pie-shaped radial slices, revealing more slives beneath that rise up to make a seamless, much larger surface. Spin the table-edge the other way and the table shrinks back again. The videos have to be seen to be believed.
The dark lord pointed his wand at Harry’s head with little regard for the battle surrounding them. Harry stood frozen, the point of the wand inches from the scar that had been touched by Voldemort’s wand before. The chaos of the battle faded, the shouts and screamed curses and blocks evaporating back into the ether, Voldemort and Harry stood alone in their moment. Harry could see Voldemort’s eyes narrow and lips start to turn upwards into a cruel smile, and the beginning of the final curse being formed by his lips.
And in that moment, Harry knew there was nothing he could do. It was over. Avada kedavra had no block, no counter curse, nothing. He knew he would be joining his parents, Dumbledore, Sirius, Hermione, and all those that fell because of the relationship between himself and Voldemort.
Then, like a shout from some deep place in his heart, it hit him. There was a counter. There was a way to block the killing curse. And he knew he had to let it strike him. He dropped his wand and looked into the slitted eyes of his horrid brother in fate. Harry smiled.
Voldemort noticed.
“Avada Kedavra!” screamed Voldemort. The rage, the hatred, the pure desire for power leaped from the tip of the yew wand in Voldemort’s hand and struck Harry in the chest. The power should have sent him flying, sent him flipping through the air. But he stood there, the green energy crackling around him, jumping across his skin, not wanting to touch him, but not able to leave or dissapate. The curse was coursing through his veins, running through his body, trying its all to stop his heart, his brain, and all that made Harry live.
Harry closed his eyes and let the deadly fire dance through him… the counter had worked. The relationships, the love, the very thing that defined Harry’s opposite from Voldemort was the saving grace from the unforgivable curse. All those faces of the people he loved charged through his mind. Ron’s goofy smile, Hermione’s comforting words, Dumbledore’s gentle teaching, his parents images in the aftershock of the priori incantatem looking down on him, the last hug with Sirius, Mrs. Weasley’s food and kind admonishment, the kiss with Ginny, the proud looks that McGonagall gave him during Quidditch, the brotherly love that Hagrid so deeply was willing to give. All those moments wrapped around him. His mom had found the counterspell in her death. Harry just had not seen it. The old magic, the human magic, the friendships, the love… All of it bridging together to form the new magic that surrounded what made Harry the person he was. More than love. More than death.
“Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort was shaking with rage throwing each curse after killing curse. Each green bolt joined the others, slowly forming a solid green aura around Harry. The silence was no longer in Harry’s head, the moment had broken. Everyone had stopped. The Order had stopped fighting, aghast and waiting for Harry to fall. The Death Eaters were staring in shock at their master, seemingly unable to kill his greatest underestimated foe. All eyes were turned towards the two, locked each in their own relative anger and peace.
Harry opened his eyes and raised his arms from his sides. The death energy radiated outwards from his finger tips, arcing through the air back towards his body, the bolts running through his hair, his scar burning bright green in the soft darkness around him. Voldemort’s eyes were wide. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Harry looked at his adversary in the eye and whispered.
“You have no power over me.”
The curses shot out from Harry’s hands and hit Voldemort’s wand. The wand smoked for a quick moment and then it shattered spectacularly. Splinters went flying, the burst sent Voldemort’s arm flying upwards, skin and cloak on fire, trailing dark smoke. Voldemort took a step back and screamed at his Death Eaters.
“Kill him! Kill him, now!”
Harry felt the bursts hit him and return to the wands that casted them. He heard screams as arms were bent, broken, burned, wands shattering and the death eaters falling to their knees. Voldemort shook his head. The dark lord couldn’t understand.
“I thought of everything! There is no magic to protect you! I have your blood! You have no wand in your hand! How?!?” Voldermort said.
“You have no power over me.” Harry said. “Or anyone else. You are nothing but a sad old man.”
“Impossible. How?!? Why won’t you die?” Voldemort held his broken hand under his other arm, cradling the smoking remains. His voice kept raising towards a scream then back to his normal hoarse voice. “HOW?!?”
“Your horcruxes are broken, Voldemort, or they are mine now. Your wand is destroyed. Your followers have fallen.”
“Then kill me, stupid child! Or… are you not the man that Dumbledore was?”
“I am.” Harry stepped forward and picked up his wand. He walked right up to Voldemort and looked him in the eye. “And you are not.”
“You are not.” Harry repeated, and touched the wand to Voldemort’s chest. “Tom.”
Voldemort screamed in agony and crumpled to his knees. His skin turned ashen, his eyes yellowed, and Voldemort aged fifty years in a second. Harry turned to the members of the Order. Everyone’s eyes were on him. Harry smiled as best he could.
“It’s over.”
“What about the prophecy?” asked Ron. “Aren’t you supposed to kill him?”
“I did. Voldemort is dead.” Harry turned and pointed his wand at the old man sitting on his knees, shaking his head. “There sits Tom Riddle. Old, sad, Tom Riddle. Nothing more. Everything about Voldemort is gone. Death eaters, curses, fear, hatred, everything that he was is gone. All that is left is an old man to be pitied.”
“How did you do it? How did you defeat the curse?” Ron asked in shock.
“Hermione. My mom. My dad. My uncle. Dumbledore. All of them. Thank all of them.”
“I don’t understand, Harry.” Ron said.
Harry put his hand over Ron’s shoulder. “You will, Ron. You will.” Harry took a deep breath.
“Everyone will.”
Food for thought: (from wikipedia)
Adolf Hitler was brought up in his family’s religion by his Roman Catholic parents, but as a school boy he began to reject the Church and Catholicism. After he had left home, he never attended Mass or received the Sacraments. However, he was never excommunicated, so he could be considered a Catholic in good standinguntil his death by suicide. This is significant when one reads claims that he persecuted Catholics, as well as Jews. If he had done so, he would have been excommunicated, and the entire nation could have been placed under interdict. This never happened.
In later life, Hitler’s religious beliefs present a discrepant picture: In public statements, he frequently spoke positively about the Christian heritage of German culture and belief in Christ. Hitler’s private statements, reported by his intimates, are more mixed, showing Hitler as a religious but also anti-Christian man. However, in contrast to other Nazi leaders, Hitler did not adhere to esoteric ideas, occultism, or neo-paganism, and ridiculed such beliefs in his book Mein Kampf. Rather, Hitler advocated a “Positive Christianity”, a belief system purged from what he objected to in traditional Christianity, and reinvented Jesus as a fighter against the Jews.
Hitler believed in a Social Darwinist struggle for survival between the different races, among which the “Aryan race” was supposed to be the torchbearers of civilization and the Jews as enemies of all civilization. Whether his anti-semitism was influenced by older Christian ideas remains disputed. Hitler also strongly believed that “Providence” was guiding him in this fight.
Among Christian denominations, Hitler favoured Protestantism, which was more open to such reinterpretations, but at the same time imitated some elements of Catholic church organization, liturgy, and phraseology in his politics.
Any other leaders come to mind that have also claimed that ““Providence” was guiding him in this fight“?
Hmmmmm. Weird. I swear I heard Bush Jr. say that too. Not that Dubya is Hitler or anything.
He sure isn’t as good of a speaker as Hitler. That is for damn sure. Clinton is closer in that regard.
Sometimes contrasting two people from different circumstances and different times leads to insights for both of those being contrasted. Compare Clinton to FDR, or Bush Jr. to Hitler, or even Bush Jr. to Lincoln. What kind of things do you find?
History repeating itself? Interesting insights into the human condition? What drives us as a species into conflict resulting in legalized murder?
It sparks the imagination.
Amazing video. 46 mins long, but worth it.
There are a couple things that I am scared of to death in this world. Deep water and forces larger than me. I guess they can almost be considered the same thing, so forces larger than me has to take the cake. Deep water is a big force and when you can’t see the bottom, I do believe that is the perfect time to panic.
The force-larger-than-me that scares me the most is the consensus of a group. When the consensus is wrong, horribly horribly wrong, or has been twisted by a very clever and cunning member of that group, I am always very worried. More often than not, I happen to be the member of the group that is in opposition to the popular opinion. If there are stormtroopers around, I am usually the rebellion sympathizer without a blaster or a plan.
This fear, be default, makes talking politics with my family a taboo subject. A veritable minefield of avoided topics which inevitably lead to quiet inquiries about the weather. My family is very politically minded, which is fine by me, as someone in this world should be politically minded. It is just that I am afraid that they are too focused on the existing system to understand the folly of the “great consensus”. The gathering of so many people on a subject that in the end, the lowest common denominator is what makes the choice.
Give America a small set of choices and the retards will be the ones that vote the most and make it appear the system actually works, if you know what I mean. But when the politicians with the most money can brainwash enough retards to vote enough times, democracy is not working. That is not representation. That is just scary in my opinion. Democracy is great, don’t get me wrong. I think the USA is the best country in almost every respect that has ever existed. Rome be damned.
But. (There had to be a but.)
Much like any system, governments require “corrections” every once in a while. The founding fathers understood this and hoped to make a system of checks and balances that would slowly or constantly enforce those changes. But the question needs to be asked if those corrections are occurring. The recent Democrat takeover would lead most people to believe that yes, things are indeed changing. But as most of us know, it really isn’t. Democrats and Republicans all belong to the same country clubs. They all have the same stock portfolios and they all believe in the same thing. What makes it seem like they don’t is that they split hairs over silly things. Things to divert attention, things to capture thought, things to shift away from the horrible fact that the US is slowly rotting from within. Things like who is sleeping with who’s intern and who voted for that war thing and who can be blamed for the budget overruns.
And my answer to all that?
Pick up a mirror.
Busy busy in the Clan of Hughes.
Wife preggers, growing daily. Family stuff for the horridays (say it slow). And my knee is the size of grapefruit. My insurance and I just paid for a couple people to rip my knee open, screw some hardware in and attach a dead person’s ligament where my ACL used to be.
And the drugs were awesome. However my fingers could barely operate my remote or my gameboy so posting was effectively on hold.
The wife is doing good. We find out the sex of the baby the day after Christcomestoearthtoredeemyoursorryassday.
My eldest dog looks at my knee in sympathy, as he had the same surgery earlier this year. Of course, I didn’t have to wear a cone on my head.
Thank goodness.
Here is a great perspective piece about the current attempts of the RIAA to legislate media.
A great quote:
The collective amnesia the entertainment industry has about its past and recent attempts to limit consumers’ rights and technological innovation is nothing short of startling.
Awesome.
Interviewing people is one of the most uncomfortable social interactions that I can think of, short of a funeral or a bad date. (I guess interviews and bad dates are the exact same thing, actually. “First dates are interviews, Gwen.” – Van Wilder)
The interviewee is nervous and constantly double guessing answers and the questions asked, whilst the interviewer is unsure of the right questions to ask while measuring the stress response of the interviewee. Makes for an unusual interaction of flight versus fight nervous responses on both sides.
The interviewee wants an opportunity to prove themselves and validate their existence to a fellow human being. The interviewer is wondering what is for lunch while counting the number of blinks the interviewee is making during their responses to the questions. And I had to pee. Can’t forget that.
I thought I was going to explode. Note to self: Do not drink coffee before an interview.
I pity HR people. You either really have to enjoy it or be just a little stupid.
Like crazy stupid to force yourself to run through the same paces every single time a job is posted or you have to interview someone. I bet that behind Guidance Counselors, HR folks have the highest rate of blowing their noggins off. With a nailgun. Three times. Because the first and second time they biffed it.
That is dedication.
Me? I am just not cut out for that rot. Hiring and Firing is just not my thing. Too exhausting.
And I generally have to pee.
Damn you coffee, damn you and your deliciousness!